Page 17 of Lust and Honor

He straightens up, props his hand under his chin, and gives me another dramatic once-over, clearly unimpressed. With one brow arched, he teases, “Whoa, don’t go broke now!”

He says it so sassily that I can’t help but laugh again. I set my empty shot glass down, nudging it toward him for a refill.

Reaching into my pocket to pay for the drink, he waves me off, “On the house, love. I’d hate for you to starve for two weeks over a drink.”

I pull out my cash, puffing up with pride. “I assure you, I can cover my own drink.”

He raises an eyebrow and puts the price list across the counter. My eyes widen at the numbers, and as I stuff the money back in my pocket.

“Or maybe not!” I mutter.

Grabbing the fresh shot, I hold it to my eyes. “What are these drinks made of? Gold?”

I knock it back to taste for myself.

“Oh, sweetheart, this place is on a whole different level from wherever you’re from. But you’ve hit the jackpot. Just imagine the guys who come here, dropping that much on drinks—how much do you think they’d pay for pussy?”

I give him a confused look, and he winks back at me. Before I can ask what he means, he grabs his bottle of liquor and turns to me.

“Gotta get back to work, love. Sit tight, Elen will come find you in a few minutes. Here’s one last shot, to the new girl.”

He fills the glass and saunters off, and I down it without a second thought. I’m not much of a drinker. Truth is, I’ve never had a close friend to go out drinking with. Until last year, I’d never even touched the stuff. But April, the woman whose house I live in and whose kids I care for, has a soft spot for me. Every now and then, when her husband pisses her off, she drags me into one of her little drinking nights, getting tipsy and ranting about him.

From the little experience I’ve had with April, I’ve learned that alcohol can give you courage, and tonight, I need that courage. I’m in a place where I don’t belong, chasing a meeting with a man I’m not even sure what I want from.

A tall, gorgeous girl struts past me, wearing nothing but a tiny thong, carrying a bucket of champagne. My gaze trails after her. The girl sets the champagne bucket on a table where a man and a woman are locked in a kiss on a red circular leather couch.

With the alcohol heating my head, the sight stirs something inside me that Sister Maria definitely wouldn’t approve of. I know the Bible by heart, I know how to pray, I know what modesty and honor mean. But right now, I can’t understand why I wish I were the one in that man’s arms. That kiss awakens a feeling in me I didn’t even know existed.

The man’s strong hands pin the woman’s delicate frame, his lips dancing with hers. I watch her fingertips trail along his body, and as Maxim’s chiseled muscles and flawless form flash through my mind, I wonder what this feeling could be. To the heat in my chest and the pounding of my heart, another sensation joins, a pulse between my thighs.

I shake my head, pulling my gaze away before I lose myself completely, and that’s when I see him—the man who’s haunted my dreams for four years. He’s wearing a white collared shirt, no tie, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, climbing the stairs. My eyes lock onto him like a spotlight, following him until he disappears from view.

Without hesitation, I head for the stairs, glance up at the second floor, and there he is. Standing by a tall window, sipping his drink. I climb the steps and stop at a door I assume leads to his room, based on what I saw from below. I knock, but the music’s so loud I’m sure I wouldn’t hear him even if he answered. So I take the risk and step inside.

The first thing that grabs my attention when I step into the room is the massive king-sized bed, covered in deep red sheets, dominating most of the space. The air is thick with a heady masculine scent that instantly fills my lungs. I scan the room, trying to find its source.

He’s standing with his back to me, bathed in a haze of red and yellow light, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling window at the chaos of the club below.

Now that I’m just a few steps away from him, my nerves spike. I freeze by the door, unable to tear my eyes away from his broad shoulders.

A few seconds pass before he slowly pivots on his heel and notices me. One hand hangs loosely at his side, while the other holds a square crystal glass that halts midair somewhere over his chest.

His brow arches slightly as his eyes rake over me, from my shoes to my flushed cheeks. That piercing stare sends a jolt through my body, with two effects: my throat pulses with stress, and something drops in my stomach.

I’m not a shy girl. But right now, I have no control over the heat rushing to my cheeks… or the nervous, quiet voice that escapes me. “Are you Maxim?”

My question is pointless, I already know the answer. I only asked to break the awkward silence. My voice seems to snap him out of whatever trance he was in. The corner of his mouth curls up, and he gives me a subtle nod before downing the rest of his drink.

“Close the door, sweetheart,” he says as he walks toward the minibar, his voice is low and smooth.

He overwhelms every one of my senses, and I obey without thinking, without hesitation. When I turn back, he’s already striding toward me with long, confident steps. Instinctively, I want to step back, but there’s nowhere to go. I’m pinned between the door and the solid heat of his body.

I tilt my head as far back as I can, staring into his dark eyes. I’m so exhilarated, it feels like all the blood in my body has rushed to my head. Gasping like a fish out of water, I open my mouth to explain why I’m here, but he presses his index finger to my lips and murmurs,

“Shhh, sweetheart. Let me look at you first.”

My eyes widen, and heat races across my skin. What is he saying? The only thought comes to my mind is that maybe he remembers me. But what’s with this behavior? Has he been spinning lustful fantasies about me all these years too? My chest rises and falls rapidly, and my whole body feels like it’s on fire.